


Soapbox Baby

by seosui



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Multi, Slice of Life (From Hell), Work In Progress, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seosui/pseuds/seosui
Summary: Amidst turbulent days, Timothy, Rhys and Jack learned to acknowledge that there is only so much you can take, no matter how much you love and care for someone. Recognizing their relationship was running on fumes and tired of his habits, Rhys left Timothy to deal with his own demons, whilst promising to support him in overcoming them. At the same time, he began a friendship with Timothy's estranged twin brother, Jack.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands), Handsome Jack/Timothy Lawrence/Rhys, Timothy Lawrence/Rhys
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Soapbox Baby

The past few days collapsed on him like bricks, rendering his limbs numb and immobile. Buried beneath the heavy weight of all the quilt and fleece, and withdrawn into the greyness of the cluttered room, he laid very still on top of the double bed, one side empty. Pulling a fragrant pillow over his jaded stare, his ears rang with the murmurs coming from the flat-screen TV. He had left it on all night; the silence in the flat bothered him. The usual loud footsteps on the creaky wooden floors weren’t there anymore, nor the hiss of the cheap dollar-store kettle, and the smell of homemade banana pancakes early in the morning.

 _"It was just twenty!” “And for what, Timothy? Some booze?”_ Their last argument left a bad taste in his mouth. He was desperate; fished out a twenty from the purse, and pocketed them to later buy a pack of cold beer and some canned food for the empty pantry. Even threw in a couple fruit lollies; his partner loves ice cream. But when he got home, Rhys was already at the door, fuming. His duffle bag packed on the ready, he had made up his mind. It wasn’t the first, second or third time this had happened. And each time, Tim would throw out some lame excuse like he forgot to pay the water bills, or the stupid old car broke down, or his mother rang him up for money. But his flat would always be filled with booze; the fridge, the kitchen countertop, the secondhand dresser in his room and, hell, even the floors were all littered with emptied cans and bottles of booze. _He has a problem._

 _"Get help.”_ Before he could dish out another excuse, Rhys shoved a crumpled pamphlet in his chest. And just like that, he was gone with the wind. Didn’t even bother to collect his things, which brewed hopes of a reconciliation, but many of Timothy’s texts or calls were unreturned. Then on the twentieth day after he had left, Rhys finally showed up at the door. It was a cold rainy Sunday afternoon; foreshadowing weather, when he thought back on it. After the obligatory exchange of apologies from both sides and a hot cup of coffee, Rhys straight up told him that he had met someone new. Timothy was inconsolable.

Didn’t even get to tell that he had signed up for treatment. Despite it all, Rhys promised to give him support. He planned on visiting every weekend to cook and clean and check up on how he is doing, acknowledging that he couldn’t leave him alone just yet. Not till he is sure Timothy could afford to take care of himself. There were other plans, too; helping him out with part-time job hunting so he could afford to pay the bills, maybe drive him to work once in a while, buy him groceries, but Timothy could barely hear through his tears and sobbing.

 _That_ was four days ago. When he was finally able to summon the strength to get up and leave the flat to go to his support group today, he was lucky (or unlucky) enough to catch a glimpse of Rhys’ new beau. Had to rub his eyes twice. It was a scene straight out of a soap opera; _the other man was his estranged twin brother, Jack_. The reveal left him reeling in, feeling as though he had been trampled on by an elephant with a laughing track in the background. Tears soaked his freckled cheeks and dirty polo shirt, his knees went weak and a sour taste pooled in the back of his throat. A concerned stranger approached him and asked if he is okay.

“I don’t know,” Timothy wept, dolefully rubbing his tears away. “I really don’t know.”


End file.
